General's Girl
by Arwench
Summary: Rated PG for safety only. A girl from the present travels into the past to help our nation's founders achieve liberty. RR, please.


I wrote this short as an English assignment. I do some of my best work in that manner! Anyway, it's just a little ditty that I thought someone else might like to read. Either enjoy it or don't. There's a cliché that fits here-beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Try not to scald me too badly if and when you read and review, I seem to get enough of that from my English teacher ;-) There may be future chapters, if I do get any reviews, so go ahead, give me close to your worst! I may be able to take it. The operative word here, of course, is may. Also, It was inspired by Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series, so I'm posting it on FF.N as it is already posted on FP.C  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Great!" She thought, as she probed her closet for a suitable dress. "What should I wear to this phony historical simulation?"  
  
Clara McDeeben was a 16-year-old student at Pennsylvania George Washington High School. Though history was a passion of hers, only recently had she started participating in 18th century reenactments.  
  
As she searched for the appropriate garments, Clara thought about an interesting piece of information that she had come across in the archives of the library where she worked in the afternoons. Contrary to popular belief, General George Washington respected women, judging from an article from the Pennsylvania Gazette that Benjamin Franklin wrote under an alias. The article stated a bit of gossip: that George Washington was so sympathetic to women that he always had a young woman near him, directing his battles! Clara didn't think that all of this report was true, but behind every bit of gossip there is a bit of truth.  
  
Clara looked at herself in the mirror. She was medium height with a nice figure, though she was a little plump. She had fair skin with a sprinkle of freckles on her nose and upper cheeks. Her dark brown hair had specks of gold and red in it, and was long enough for her to sit on. Her lips were set in a perpetual smile, and her hazel eyes held a speckle of light in their depths.  
  
After she dressed, Clara went into her family's kitchen to reheat some old Starbucks coffee from the refrigerator. It was before dawn, and no one in the house was awake.  
  
She placed the ceramic mug into the microwave. Drat! She forgot to pour the coffee into the cup. To save time, she stuck her hand into the opening and poured the coffee from the Styrofoam container into the mug. Well, at least that's what she intended to do. Instead, she missed the cup, bumped her head on the open cabinet above, and spilled the cold liquid on the exposed wires of the microwave!  
  
Bang! Clara fell on her back onto the floor, unconscious. Though she couldn't see it, the microwave was going through an odd and rapid change. The old dark box was turning shades of red, blue, gold, and yellow. It then faded into a black void, which gave way to a grassy hill.  
  
When Clara woke, it was to the singing of bluebirds and the tickle of ants. She stretched. Then, she remembered what had happened! As she looked around, she remembered a line from her old history textbook, "The landscape of Pennsylvania in 1777 differed greatly from how it appears in the present day. Every morning, villagers and small farmers would wake to the singing of bluebirds, and the hills were green and grassy, sprinkled with clovers." As she looked around, she realized that nowhere in the Maryland of 2077 were there any of these grassy hills left.  
  
It struck her like a bolt of lightning; She had been transported to the Pennsylvania of 1777! Clara examined the state of her dress. The grass had stained it, but it was in overall good condition. The dress was fairly intricate; a lace cuffed chemise, whalebone corset, satin bodice, and matching skirt with layered petticoats. She had made them during the previous summer. Two hundred ninety-nine years in the future, she hastily reminded herself.  
  
As she looked at her surroundings, she found a willow tree and peeled off a bit of bark for later use. "Those lessons in natural medicine that I requested from father definitely paid off," she thought to herself.  
  
As she came over the next hill, she halted abruptly. There was no doubt about what she saw.  
  
These were the humble beginnings of the city of Philadelphia. The famous Pennsbury Manor, Cliveden House, and the Liberty Bell were in clear sight. The Philadelphia Library was still in service. The old Christ Church was standing, and she decided to start the investigation at that site, of what her situation amounted to.  
  
The women standing around the altar were dressed in a similar fashion to Clara. It was definitely 1777! As she approached the priest, Clara considered what she'd say to him. Would she tell him the truth? No, she wouldn't tell him the truth, the truth was too fantastic for even her futuristic mind to comprehend. He would think she was a witch and probably have her burned!  
  
She settled on telling the priest that she was a new immigrant from France, a country allied with the revolutionaries' cause.  
  
"How fare thee, milady? I don't believe thou hast been in this establishment before," said the priest.  
  
"Well, thank you. I am newly come from France, Father. Could you please tell me how I could endeavor to find a lodging for the night?" Clara inquired in her best French accent.  
  
"If it may beith so, milady, that thou haven't a kinship in the area, thou may stayeth in the courthouse, where thou may calleth upon the butler to bring thee refreshments. Pray have a rest here, Comfort thy soul as well as thy body, and call on me by the name of Father Bartholomew when thou art ready to depart," said the priest.  
  
"Thank you, Father Bartholomew," she replied in a deliberately demure fashion.  
  
As she rested her feet, Clara once again pondered what she would do during her stay in 1777. "Maybe I'll assist during the Battle of Germantown or Red Bank. Maybe I can help to turn the tables in the battles of Mud Fort or maybe, with my medical knowledge, I can even reduce the number of casualties at the Valley Forge Encampment!" she thought.  
  
Just as these notions excited her, she realized that in order to make a difference in this time period, she would have to meet some very influential people. "This may be difficult," she thought to herself, "but I have something that these people don't, and that's the knowledge of where I can meet influential people and what their futures hold!"  
  
As she set off for the courthouse, Clara realized that some of the American heroes that she had read about and loved were actually within walking distance, to talk to as humans, with all of their human flaws and joys! Instead of going to the courthouse first, she decided to go to Benjamin Franklin's print shop.  
  
When she arrived at the print shop, she was greatly disappointed. She didn't know what she expected, but a musty log building with a bearskin door was not it. Inside the shop, Mr. Franklin himself was making inscriptions into the wax tablets.  
  
"Hello, sir," she called, excitement etched into her face.  
  
"Oh, hello, miss. How may I assist you? Have you a bridal invitation to be printed?" Mr. Franklin said pleasantly. Mr. Franklin looked exactly as her old textbook portrayed him: short and stout, with wire spectacles that were too small for his face and white hair over a high forehead. His gray eyes were winced in a humorous expression.  
  
"No, I'm afraid that I'm a maiden," she said.  
  
"Then why are you here, girl?"  
  
"I just wanted to meet you, Mr. Franklin. You wouldn't understand why, quite yet," Clara told him truthfully. From the description that her resources gave her, Mr. Franklin was very open minded and accepting. She was determined to test him on those points.  
  
"Is that so, then?" he said laughingly, "Well, have a seat, why won't you?"  
  
Clara told him as much of her predicament as she could, judging all the time how much his skepticism would interfere. From her observations, the descriptions that the textbooks gave of Mr. Franklin's open curiosity and concern were understatements. He listened to every word that she told him, and she found herself answering his eager questions about computers and automobiles.  
  
Though she told him these things, Clara made him promise not to use them or model things after them, lest he distort time and space.  
  
Benjamin requested that Clara stay the night in his home, and she accepted. Mrs. Franklin made a wonderful dinner of wild rice stew, rolls, and a good wine. Clara politely refused the wine, and Mrs. Franklin brought her warm milk instead. As Clara fell asleep, she wondered just how long her stay in 1777 would last.  
  
In the morning, Mrs. Franklin prepared fresh eggs and toast, with a jug of warm milk. Though Clara wished that she never had to leave this home, Mr. Franklin had told her that George Washington was in town for a few days, and that she should consider meeting him. She enthusiastically accepted his suggestion and headed directly towards the inn, above which Mr. Washington was staying.  
  
As she approached the inn, she heard two men talking about the taxes that had helped send them to war.  
  
"Ten percent on all property, twenty of all income. That's not to mention the five percent on tea!" said one.  
  
"Aye! That's nay but the start. They be taxin us fer writin a simple letter to our sires, too. And also fer weedins, so's a poor lad canna be marryin a young lass should he no have the shillins to pay fer them!" said the other.  
  
"Wow!" Clara thought, "They're complaining about the taxes that they have to pay??? In 2077, the property taxes are higher, the income tax is around fifty percent, and sales tax is fifteen percent!!!"  
  
As she entered the inn, she thought that she recognized a few faces among the crowd, but she couldn't be sure. She asked the innkeeper where she could find a Mr. George Washington, and he directed her to a table on the far side of the inn. Clara walked over to the table, her knees shaking wildly, her stomach in knots. Some of the pressure was relieved when Mr. Washington initiated the conversation. "Good afternoon, miss. How may I assist you?" he asked.  
  
"I just wanted to talk to you in private, General Washington," Clara stated.  
  
"Well, This setting simply won't do, and please, call me George. If you wish to speak to me privately, I know a quiet spot just outside of town. Care to take a walk there?"  
  
"Most certainly, sir," she replied as he stood and bowed.  
  
George Washington was a handsome man, about seven feet tall, with a white wig and smiling blue eyes. He was old for that time, almost thirty, and he was only beginning to show the signs of aging, despite years in the military, and a while as a general for the colonies.  
  
They walked a bit, exchanging formalities, until they reached a quiet spot just outside of the city limits.  
  
Their conversation was a bit like Clara's conversation with Benjamin Franklin, but in the place of her time travel, Clara said that she was a seer. Mr. Franklin had told her that Mr. Washington would be more skeptical than he would on the issue of time travel, and gave her the substitute description of the events.  
  
As crazy as Clara's story was, George believed it, and he asked her if she could be his advisor in some battlefield matters. She agreed, and to seal the agreement, they went to the print shop to make out a contract.  
  
When they arrived, Ben Franklin winked at her and wrote out the contract, no questions asked. He also offered to house Clara for the few days that it would take her to gain a vision of the next battle. George agreed, and three more days of heaven at the Franklins' home commenced.  
  
When the time finally came, Clara traveled to see General Washington, and told him of the upcoming battle of Germantown. As he marched down the path to meet with the redcoats, Clara rode right next to him, on a white mare. George had bought her a new dress, suitable for directing troops and hard riding. Clara was living her dream. Whenever a man grew sick, Clara was back from her foraging for medicinal plants, ready and willing to treat him. Around the campfire, she sang songs of good cheer with the men, her soprano voice ringing above the baritone ones.  
  
All too soon, the dream turned into a nightmare. A single shot rang out from the distance. Smoking fires were spotted and matching red coats. With minimal warning, the battle had suddenly started!  
  
Clara was at the backs of the soldiers; shouting suggestions to General Washington and running to the wounded men, having them sip a willow bark infusion to induce clotting. She set up a rudimentary battlefield hospital and took in the wounded men one after the other. There were so many casualties of battle that she soon lost count, and ordered the only slightly wounded to place the men with fatal wounds in a more comfortable position and perform the last rites.  
  
As she amputated a mangled leg and sewed up the wound, Clara slipped with her scalpel and slit her wrist.  
  
Bang! Clara was unconscious as her surroundings started to turn colors and finally slip out of view into a black, impenetrable void. As she started to regain consciousness, Clara felt a throbbing pain in her head and sat up. Her dress was covered with coffee. "Was it all a dream?" she asked herself. She stood up and cleaned up the kitchen floor where she had spilled the Starbucks Coffee.  
  
Upstairs, she found another dress and put it on. On her right wrist was a scar that had not previously been there. On her way to the reenactment, she became very curious. She took a detour to the Germantown Historical Battlefield. As she walked through the battlefield, Clara decided to investigate the area in which she remembered that the hospital had been.  
  
In front of her, towering, was a statue of a woman in a dress made for a rugged environment, a scalpel in one hand, and an American flag in the other. The woman's hair had once been gilded, but the gilt had long since faded away. The inscription under the figure read, "Clara McDeeben, Until You Return."  
  
BANG! 


End file.
